Disc Golf

Sunday's column.

Superman's got nothing on disc golfers

Warning: Disc golf is addictive and is a leading cause of embarrassment, envy and sudden outbursts of anger.

Too bad they don't post that label on golf discs.

The warning summarizes all I had learned about the game I played three or four times a week for the past five months.

Readers might remember my account of playing the disc golf course last winter at Stuart Nelson Park — using Frisbees. Not only did I suffer severe frostbite requiring the removal of several previously functioning fingers and toes, but I also played so badly that, had I been sensible, I would have given up immediately to avoid humiliating myself in front of others.

But I am not sensible. Besides, a bunch of guys from an organization called the West Kentucky Disc Golf Club, after reading the column, e-mailed some helpful tips. Of course, if they really wanted to be helpful they would have advised "Quit now." Instead they said, "Ditch the Frisbees."

Good advice. Playing disc golf with a Frisbee is like playing real golf with a ping pong ball.

We quickly learned that disc golf is played with discs that bear only slight resemblance to the popular flying discs of the '70s and '80s. Golf discs are harder, thinner, smaller in diameter and more aerodynamic than Frisbees. They fly twice as far when you release them — unless, of course, you are me, in which case they only go about 15 feet before they hit a tree. The rows of dents in the trees near the tee boxes at Paducah's course tell me I'm not the only one.

I had noticed that serious players carry around big bags full of discs. This is not, as I had presumed, because they lose so many in a typical round that they want to make sure they can get through all 18 holes. It is because every disc has a different flight pattern and is made for a specific purpose. You have distance drivers, fairway drivers, mid-range and approach discs, putters and, of course, discs to hurl into the woods in a fit of fury when you blow an easy shot.

Despite the frustration of seeing discs go somewhere other than where I intend, which happens only every hole, I actually thought I was starting to get the hang of it. That was before I played in the Red Cross Disc Toss last weekend alongside members of the club — that is, REAL disc golfers.

We're talking hard core. These people are not normal. They are machines. They go to the gym and lift weights, isolating the muscles they use in throwing. They study disc golf video. They travel around the country competing. They set up holes in their backyards. Those who have enough land set up entire courses on their property.

For months I had been hearing about a player named Richard, the club's best player, the only guy with a hole-in-one on the Paducah course — and he has three. On one throw. Richard can toss a disc from the Kentucky end of the Irvin Cobb bridge and hit the "Welcome to Brookport" sign at the other end, sailing past tractor-trailer rigs along the way. He can toss a disc from the foot of Kentucky Avenue and land it smack-dab in the center of the helipad at Western Baptist Hospital, even with the helicopter blades spinning overhead. He once tossed a disc from the George Rogers Clark statue at Fort Massac, bounced it off the forehead of Big John the 20-foot sack boy and knocked out the front teeth of the giant Superman in the Metropolis square, causing it to cry — not because of pain but because of its obvious inferiority to Richard.

I'm telling you, he's a robot or an alien or something.

Anyway, the Red Cross Disc Toss ended with a random draw best toss scramble on Sunday. As luck — and a $20 bribe — would have it, organizers paired me with Richard. The bad news is, we never used any of my throws. For that matter, we never FOUND my throws. The good news is, Richard didn't need my help to crush the competition like mosquitoes on the windshield. And I still got to share in the cash prize.

Well, OK, we actually finished third. But that was only because Richard forgot which hole we were throwing at a few times and hit the NEXT hole instead, necessitating an extra stroke to get back. And we still finished only two strokes up.

I picked up a few more tips at the tournament. But none more valuable than this: Make Richard your partner.